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Abstract

small side hustles like eBay and Etsy but those pay for my skincare products at best. And neither fall under the Passion category.</p><p id="6100">My little crafty hobbies won’t pay my Southern California mortgage either. Everyone owns a Cricut. Make your own damn shirts. And there are plenty of cookie decorators out there who are not only professionals, but they have the financial security of a spouse with a salaried job.</p><p id="2cc3">Unless I want to test anti-sleep meds in a shady country with limited monkeys, I can’t make a career of laying in bed all day.</p><p id="acdf">I don’t have the face or the appropriate age for an impromptu snarky TV show. Nothing trumps Billy On The Street anyway.</p><p id="1cc3">Shoving Botox and fillers in strangers’ faces is illegal without a license. California is crazy strict and I’d have to become a physician’s assistant, registered nurse, or nurse practitioner. Going back to school would further exacerbate the “need money, pay bills” situation. And really, I don’t think I want to put needles in <i>other</i> people as much as I just want discounted fillers and the ability to pump them in my own face.</p><p id="f302">So here we are. I can’t do the things I love and never work a day in my life unless I enjoy homelessness. At best I’ve managed to get paid the most amount of money for the least amount of work…so, yay?</p><p id="1c0c">It’s soul-sucking. I’m taking online courses to up my current tech skillset so that I can move on from my company but there is a level of motivation needed to plow through this boring crap. If I’m going to suffer in misery, I might as well get paid more for it. It’s the whole “suffering in misery” part that’s tough to get through.</p><p id="6667">I was told last week about the official Return to Office dates. While I’d rather gauge my eyes with a fork than experience office life again, there is a part of me that is excited to go back. I don’t care about people and it makes no difference to the type that I do. I’m not looking forward to giving a shit about weekend stories with people I barely remember.</p><p id="c6f4">Forcing myself on a schedule will be good for me. Making myself presentable is needed for my mental health (<i>I think</i>). It’ll be nice to stop wearing the same three t-shirts on rotation since March 2020. I’ll be more productive <i>not</i> because office life increases productivity but because I’ll be desperate to avoid humans outside of my monitors’ personal bubble.<

Options

/p><p id="6d73">In other words, returning to the office is the bitch slap I need to get out of my head. But it won’t remove the soul-sucking feeling I have towards work. It’s boring and dry; those horrific qualities are what make me in demand because most can’t suffer through them.</p><p id="56a9">My perfect, dream job is what I’m doing right now. Sitting on my couch. Streaming trash TV. Laptop on my lap. Bottle of Diet Pepsi on the coffee table. Writing nothing of value to anyone but myself. The content is anything I feel like babbling about and brain-dumping in a given moment (<i>most likely griping about something mundane</i>).</p><p id="b068">And this is why I can’t do what I love. No one will pay me a salary plus benefits for such a kick-ass dream job.</p><div id="3d81" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/financially-affording-divorce-4e87d825c7e"> <div> <div> <h2>Financially Affording Divorce</h2> <div><h3>My kidney is now for sale.</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*scA9oa66hEWS9GJo)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="8db3" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/no-contact-the-brutal-way-to-end-heartbreak-42e296eb06a6"> <div> <div> <h2>No Contact: The Brutal Way To End Heartbreak</h2> <div><h3>Love addiction is rough.</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*g4vdnfrNCEYXCTda)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="f905" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/how-to-be-effortlessly-cool-1656baff7faf"> <div> <div> <h2>How to Be Effortlessly Cool</h2> <div><h3>Ode to the women who make it look easy</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*dquN64-Fsms7wjX4)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

The Fallacy of “Do What You Love and You Won’t Work a Day in your life”

Some of us need an income.

Allegedly, we’re in the Great Resignation. Employees are giving the middle finger to their companies because, for the first time, we’re able to tell our employers to fuck off with their shitty treatment of humans.

We don’t care for your rigid work hours.

We don’t care for your fake “we care about you” words from HR, who are secret spies for the corporate overlords.

We don’t care for your shitty hierarchy which rewards the political game, not competence.

Props to the twenty-somethings who quit their corporate gigs to follow their passion of being career and life coaches (you know, with all those years of experience under their belts to provide wisdom). They quickly figured out the new game of life.

I saw a video from a young woman who began jumping rope at the start of the pandemic and now that’s her new career. She has her own brand of jump ropes and travels the country doing talk shows. I guess that pays the bills?

Props to the free spirits out there who parlayed the pandemic into passion projects that spawned new careers. After all, if you do what you love you’ll never have to work a day in your life…right?

I’m envious.

Thing is, I don’t have any talents or interests that could remotely parlay into a career. And by “career”, I mean, “a job that can sustain my Single Mom Life by paying the bills and making sure my kids don’t starve but I’m cool if I starve because you know, calories”.

Medium paid a pretty penny when I started a few years ago but then the money overlords decided to slash payouts. This has always been an outlet for my brain to not explode with madness; my intention was never to make money.

I have small side hustles like eBay and Etsy but those pay for my skincare products at best. And neither fall under the Passion category.

My little crafty hobbies won’t pay my Southern California mortgage either. Everyone owns a Cricut. Make your own damn shirts. And there are plenty of cookie decorators out there who are not only professionals, but they have the financial security of a spouse with a salaried job.

Unless I want to test anti-sleep meds in a shady country with limited monkeys, I can’t make a career of laying in bed all day.

I don’t have the face or the appropriate age for an impromptu snarky TV show. Nothing trumps Billy On The Street anyway.

Shoving Botox and fillers in strangers’ faces is illegal without a license. California is crazy strict and I’d have to become a physician’s assistant, registered nurse, or nurse practitioner. Going back to school would further exacerbate the “need money, pay bills” situation. And really, I don’t think I want to put needles in other people as much as I just want discounted fillers and the ability to pump them in my own face.

So here we are. I can’t do the things I love and never work a day in my life unless I enjoy homelessness. At best I’ve managed to get paid the most amount of money for the least amount of work…so, yay?

It’s soul-sucking. I’m taking online courses to up my current tech skillset so that I can move on from my company but there is a level of motivation needed to plow through this boring crap. If I’m going to suffer in misery, I might as well get paid more for it. It’s the whole “suffering in misery” part that’s tough to get through.

I was told last week about the official Return to Office dates. While I’d rather gauge my eyes with a fork than experience office life again, there is a part of me that is excited to go back. I don’t care about people and it makes no difference to the type that I do. I’m not looking forward to giving a shit about weekend stories with people I barely remember.

Forcing myself on a schedule will be good for me. Making myself presentable is needed for my mental health (I think). It’ll be nice to stop wearing the same three t-shirts on rotation since March 2020. I’ll be more productive not because office life increases productivity but because I’ll be desperate to avoid humans outside of my monitors’ personal bubble.

In other words, returning to the office is the bitch slap I need to get out of my head. But it won’t remove the soul-sucking feeling I have towards work. It’s boring and dry; those horrific qualities are what make me in demand because most can’t suffer through them.

My perfect, dream job is what I’m doing right now. Sitting on my couch. Streaming trash TV. Laptop on my lap. Bottle of Diet Pepsi on the coffee table. Writing nothing of value to anyone but myself. The content is anything I feel like babbling about and brain-dumping in a given moment (most likely griping about something mundane).

And this is why I can’t do what I love. No one will pay me a salary plus benefits for such a kick-ass dream job.